


Behind a gun I'll make my final stand (or five times Sam held a gun.)

by merihn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-14
Updated: 2007-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merihn/pseuds/merihn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He remembers one time, a time that will always stand stark in his memory, of Dean forcibly moving his body around until he was holding the rifle correctly.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind a gun I'll make my final stand (or five times Sam held a gun.)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [spn_heraea](http://spn-heraea.livejournal.com/), Team Schmoop.   
> Title from _Bad Company_ by **Bad Company**  
>  Hand-held by [flawedamythyst](http://flawedamythyst.livejournal.com/) who makes all my ideas about a million times better, and Beta’d by [ellipsisblack](http://ellipsisblack.livejournal.com/) who is funny and insightful and always wants more snarky!Dean.

**[1]**  
John knows he has to be careful and keep a close eye on them, but he’s happy to let them play, happy to watch their plump little faces lit up with wonder as they dig through his bag and exclaim to each other about their finds.

Sammy is still so little, his tiny fingers can barely wrap around the barrel of John’s favourite rifle, but he is still completely fascinated with the cool, smooth metal. John watches him quietly and smiles when Dean holds it higher for Sam, so he can look it all over and check every inch.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted such a life for his boys, but perhaps it would be okay. Perhaps they would choose it for themselves anyway.

 

 

**[2]**  
It’s too heavy but he struggles to hold it up anyway, tries to mimic the way Dad holds it, careless and comfortable, ready to fire at any moment. But it slips and falls and he has to scramble to hold it up, steady himself against Dean who is right behind him, and ready to help him at any moment. Dean’s hands are soothing and secure at his waist and he knows he can completely trust his older brother.

Dad tells Dean to move back because it’s time for Sam to fire, and Dean lets him go reluctantly. Sam swallows nervously knowing he isn’t ready; he’s too young, too small for this big gun. He holds it up, sights along it and sends a quick prayer up to the Heavens that he doesn’t stuff this up. His finger slips a little on the trigger, because his hands are covered in sweat but he ignores it and squeezes.

The sound of the bullet being propelled from the gun is overwhelming, so much louder than it’s ever been before and Sam feels the rest of the world go silent, numb. The gun kicks back hard, smashing into his shoulder. He feels everything tilt and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in the grass, everything hurting.

Dean is beside him in an instant, pulling Sam half into his lap, and whispering to him but Sam can’t hear what he’s saying. His head is thumping and his ears are ringing but Dean just sits with him and soothes him until Sam can make out, _Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay now._ over and over again. Sam’s shoulder feels like its been wrenched out of its socket and he whimpers a little and turns into the safety of Dean, buries his head in the layers of clothing over Dean’s stomach.

Dean strokes a hand over his hair and rubs his back and doesn’t stop talking.

 

 

**[3]**  
It’s quiet in a way it never has been before, the car warm around them as they watch the snow fall gently from the sky, and Jess eases the car toward their destination. She smiles over at him, her cheeks still red from their run to the car, to escape the cold, her hair in messy tangles framing her face. He should feel more nervous, he knows, going to spend Thanksgiving with her parents, with a real family. He’s met them before but only for a moment and he’s not sure how well they will receive him in their own house.

But then Jess reaches over, still watching the road with one hand on the wheel and threads her fingers through his with another one of her gorgeous smiles and Sam resolves not to think about it, and to let it happen naturally.

*****

He should have known that somehow, somehow, he would be reminded of Dean - as always, when he least expects it, that's when something will make him think of Dean so strongly that he can almost hear his voice. When Jess’ younger brother, Cody, asks him excitedly if he likes guns, Sam has no other choice than to say sure, to follow the floppy-haired, blond kid into the den. He feels his heart clench when Cody pulls out the length of gleaming metal, so cleverly crafted into that familiar shape.

Cody hands one of the guns to him, placing it almost reverently into Sam’s hands. Sam immediately adjusts to the weight and holds it with practiced ease, sights down it for a moment. He can almost forget that Cody is here, or that he’s in Jess’ parents house and not standing the woods in the middle of nowhere with Dean warm at his back.

He remembers one time, a time that will always stand stark in his memory, of Dean forcibly moving Sam’s body around until he was holding the rifle correctly. Sam had gotten so angry at Dean for coddling him, treating him like the child that at almost fourteen he was growing out of that he swung around to complain but forgot to lower the rifle. He could never forget the sound of the barrel hitting Dean across the head, or the way Dean crumpled to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. All Sam could think was that he couldn’t have hit him that hard and why wasn’t Dean moving?

He’d fallen to his knees and grabbed Dean desperately, pulling his brother into his lap and trying to find signs of life, but his eyes were filling with tears and he had an odd rushing sound in his ears. Finally Dean had moved, groaned, and Sam was so relieved he pulled Dean into a proper hug, then held him back a little so Sam could look at him. Dean blinked muzzily at him and licked his lips, his eyes glazed and before Sam knew what he was doing, he’d pulled Dean forward again, angling his head.

Dean inhaled sharply when their lips touched and for a moment they just sat there, lips touching gently then Dean pulled back and scrambled up, avoiding Sam’s gaze. They didn’t talk about it for a long time.

Sam shakes his head to dispel the memories and grins at Cody before carefully passing the rifle back to him. Sam found it hard to concentrate on Jess and her family for the rest of the night, his head full of Dean and how innocently they had found a way to be happy together amidst blank hotels and their brooding father’s silences.

He would never forget the first time Dean gave in to him.

 

 

**[4]**  
He never realised just how comforting it is, sitting back on his bed and watching Dean on his, handling the guns with such care and ease. Flipping them over in dexterous fingers, checking for dings and scratches, smoothing polish onto the cool metal. Dean is so focused on the gun in his hands that he barely notices Sam in the room, until Sam makes a noise loud enough to penetrate the trance and then he’ll glance up with a half grin before his attention flips back.

But Sam is content to just watch, to see Dean differently from the Dean he watches flirting with every waitress from here to the end of the world, from the Dean who turns up the music until Sam is afraid his eardrums are going to burst and grins at Sam like he just found the meaning of life under the car seat. This Dean is silent and calm, so completely fixed on his task that it radiates from him.

But once he’s done, Dean’s attention never fails to turn back to Sam, to zero in on him like he did with the guns, only now there is a glint in his eye, a twist to his smirk that has Sam completely hard in less than ten seconds. And Dean knows it.

So when Sam gets up and stalks over to him, his smirk grows and he just watches Sam quietly until Sam reaches him, pulling the gun from his loosened grip and puts it onto the other bed where all the guns are spread out. Dean tilts his head back, just watches as Sam steps forward and straddles Dean’s legs and presses him back down on the bed with one hand splayed on his chest. Dean doesn’t fight it and stretches out, planting his feet firmly on the ground.

It’s a bit of an awkward angle, with Sam bent over, knees on the bed but still standing, and Dean with his ass hanging off the bed. Sam pulls back a little and urges Dean up, and Dean pulls himself until his head is on the pillow and his feet brush against Sam’s inner thigh. Sam crawls onto the bed and kisses his way up Dean’s body through his clothes, paying special attention to the strip of skin at his hip where his shirt has ridden up. Dean’s fingers tangle in his hair and suddenly it’s hot and fast as they kiss frantically, nipping and sucking at each other’s mouths, pressing hands against skin. Sam fumbles with Dean’s belt and pushes his hand inside Dean’s pants, Dean already hard and waiting, bucking up into his grip. Sam pushes Dean’s pants down his thighs and then pulls back to get his own jeans off, then reaches down and pulls the lube out of Dean’s bag, as familiar as his own.

He wastes no more time, he slicks up his fingers fast and presses them between his own legs and slides his fingers up inside himself. Dean groans and fists his own cock as he watches Sam work himself open and Sam hurries, he can’t go slow with Dean touching himself like that. Finally he grabs the lube from where he dropped in on the bed and smooths it over Dean’s cock, squeezing him gently and grinning when Dean bucks up and bites his lip.

He moves up, keeps a hold of Dean and starts to lower himself down, arching his back as the head of Dean’s cock breaches him, opens him further. Dean’s fingers are gripping his hips and Sam can feel his thigh muscles working hard beneath him until Dean growls and yanks on Sam’s hips, thrusting up at the same time until he’s buried deep. Dean’s pants are rough under his ass but it just adds to the sensation and he can’t hold back a moan.

It’s familiar but different all at the same time, the way they move together, the rhythm they create. Their breathing is harsh and loud and Dean’s eyes are trained on him, holding his gaze. It’s intense and they don’t speak, the only noises are the wet sounds of fucking, their heavy breathing and moans they can’t contain.

Sam holds himself up with his hands splayed across Dean’s chest, the material of his shirt soft under his fingers and rolls his hips faster and faster. Dean’s fingers wrap around his cock and Sam throws his head back and fucks down hard, coming over Dean’s t-shirt clad stomach. Dean yells something incoherent and thrusts up and Sam can feel warmth flood inside him as they ride it out.

Sam gasps for breath as he shifts, lets Dean’s cock slip out of him and he falls to the side, Dean’s arms waiting to catch him. He snuggles into Dean’s warmth and presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on his neck. Dean sighs and traces patterns on Sam’s back, and nuzzles his face in Sam’s hair.

“Ready for a nap, sweetheart?” Dean snorts, ruffling Sam’s hair.

 

 

**[5]**  
Sam tightens his arms around Dean, pulls their bodies closer and buries his nose in Dean’s hair. He watches the light stripe across the rifle leaning against the bedside table, picking out small details on the gun’s surface. He reaches out and runs his fingers over it, closing them around the cold metal and is reminded of when he was young, a fuzzy, blurry memory of playing with Dean on the floor, exploring their father’s weapons’ bag. He lets it go and holds Dean even tighter until Dean mumbles and struggles to get away.

He knows what Dean would say if he knew Sam was holding him like this at night, make some crack about Sam being an enormous girl, and that Dean wasn’t a teddy bear for him to cuddle. But Sam knows that Dean would also smile, unable to help himself, secretly a little pleased that Sam wanted to be with him like that. That Sam wanted to try and protect him.

And he does. He’s come to terms with the fact that his dreams were only that, and the reality he’d chased hadn’t made him as truly happy as being with Dean did. He’s come to terms with the fact that holding a gun makes him feel safe, that knowing Dean is right there, next to him in bed or in the car makes him feel secure. He knows now that he’s willing to do anything for Dean, because they need (want) each other and Dean would do the same.

Dean stirs, murmurs and turns over in Sam’s arms and peers at him from under half-closed eyelids. “I can practically hear you thinking in my sleep,” he says. Sam grins at him and lets his fingers creep under the hem of Dean’s sleeping shirt, onto warm, scar marked skin. Dean purrs and arches under his touch, pressing their bodies closer together.

Sam loves Dean like this, sleepy and pliable, a little unguarded. And when he leans in to kiss him, Dean doesn’t pull back or make a flip remark; he lets Sam kiss him, and kisses back.

This is how he wants it to be always, simple and safe, just him and Dean. 

 

 


End file.
